


Give & Take

by BelfastDocks



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: F/M, Hentai, Lemon, Non-Canon Relationship, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-07-07 02:37:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15899193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BelfastDocks/pseuds/BelfastDocks
Summary: She had learned from childhood to be aware that anyone was liable to walk through the tent flap at any given moment, and that the same applied in reverse. Trowa/Catherine, Lemon





	Give & Take

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Notes, Warnings, and other Disblaimers:
> 
> Rating: Heed it.
> 
> Pairing: Trowa/NoName x Catherine. And yes, I will admit, this pairing is rather...kinky? Incestuous, even? But honestly, in their defense, they don't really know they're related. I'll even go a step further and say that sometimes I ship Trowa/Quatre, depending on my mood. But I'm no good at writing yoai, so you get het instead. Please, no flames for the pairing, I was just having fun!
> 
> Random Note: Probably not very compliant with "Frozen Teardrop". Depends on which way you squint, I guess.
> 
> Inspiration: I confess, I wasn't certain if I wanted to post this story, but after reading the Hadashi de Bara wo Fume (Stepping on Roses) manga by Rinko Ueda (which includes a creepy incestuous relationship and obvious sexual relationships), I decided to post it anyways.
> 
> Originally posted on FFnet in May 2014, transferring to AO3 to maintain.
> 
> ~BD

****

## Give & Take

****

The best and worst part of the circus was that everyone treated everyone else like a member of a large, close-knit family. That's what they were, after all: a mismatched family of outcasts and hobos, but a family nonetheless. Most of them had no one else; they weren't _wanted_ anywhere else. So they stuck together.

But just like any family, the rules of privacy were sometimes a bit blurred.

The most common occurrence was that people tended to barge into tents to request a coffee cup or a utensil or an article of clothing, or even to just sit down for conversation. There were no doors, and therefore, knocking was nonexistent. Occasionally, if someone thought about it, they might announce himself or herself before walking inside someone else's tent, but such was a rarity. And so Catherine had learned from childhood to be aware that anyone was liable to walk through the tent flap at any given moment, and that the same applied in reverse. And oh, had she walked in on more than one couple before, or sometimes just a single person, even.

After the first few times, she learned to ignore it. Sex was as much a part of life as family was, and her education on the subject began early.

"Just borrowing a spoon!" she'd say cheerfully, and she'd grab the item needed and saunter out without a second glance.

Most people didn't remotely care – the strongman and the clowns were definitely immune to girls walking in on their... _extracurricular_ activities. The strongman would grunt and nod towards her and keep it up; the clowns would laugh and eagerly invite her to join in. At twelve, she had been a bit shocked; by her mid-teens, she was taking them up on the offer. It was good stress relief, after all.

But the first time _he_ walked in on _her_ , she couldn't help but feel a bit embarrassed.

Because he looked _highly_ embarrassed.

The war had ended and, to everyone's surprise, he had returned. More than anyone else, she had been so relieved to see him, because it meant that he thought the circus was his family – the strange boy who rarely said two words together and ignored everyone, and preferred to be left alone. The boy she had been so overprotective of, because she was overprotective of _everyone_ in her circus family, and he seemed to need no one (which bothered her terribly; why would anyone think they didn't _need_ anyone? What a horrible, lonely life!). And his _other_ job was so dangerous. And he _was_ her partner in the ring. So she felt as though she should be closer to him than anyone else.

But when he stepped inside her tent that night, she felt as though there was a huge gap still between them; as though she'd made no headway with him at all in the past year, even as friends. He had merely stared at her in shock for a brief few seconds before he'd quickly diverted his eyes, and she'd frozen where she lay, nude upon her cot with her hand between her legs, waiting for him blurt out whatever it was that he wanted, grab it, and leave. He had been a part of the circus for over a year now; _surely_ he had walked in on _someone_ already...!

But no, he simply flushed a dull crimson, turned, and slipped out of the tent without a word and without taking anything, leaving her feeling dirty and cheap for the first time in her life. She hated that as much as anything; one never felt dirty and cheap in the circus because everyone stuck together and everyone did the exact same thing at some point.

She agonized over the encounter for two days, wondering if he hated her even more than he had _prior_ to this little incident, before she finally decided to storm into his tent to tell him that he'd best get used to walking in on people masturbating if he were going to continue living at the circus. And damn it, that included girls. She wasn't the only one, after all – those slinky little acrobats were always having orgies, it seemed like. Girls had needs just as much as the men did!

The trouble was, when she walked into _his_ tent, she found him doing the exact same thing she had been two days earlier.

The blood drained from his face as he jolted and stared at her, his hand curled about his cock, but she only stared for a few tense seconds before she smiled coolly and said, "Just borrowing some sugar for my coffee. I'm completely out. Hope you don't mind, Trowa." Without waiting for a response, she casually rummaged through his orderly cooking supplies until she came out with two small packets, turned, and left.

Perhaps she was slightly sadistic, or perhaps she had just been intensely intrigued, but she decided to try again the next night. She had to let him know there were no hard feelings on her side; after all, she'd caught him and he'd caught her, so they were even now.

But when she pushed the flap aside that evening and slipped into his dimly lit tent, she found he was at it _again_.

This time, he snarled in a low, angry voice, "Damn it, what the _hell_ do you want?"

She took a deep breath. "I just came to –"

"Borrow something _else_?" His voice had dropped an octave; he looked humiliated and furious and more dangerous than usual. And the very timbre of his tone made her toes curl.

" _No_." She narrowed her eyes at him in return, straightened her back, and marched to him, relishing the way he seemed to shrink back into his air mattress at her sudden move. Two could play at this game. It was better if two _did_ play at it, actually.

Without waiting for an invitation, she pushed her shorts down over her hips and stripped out of her halter-top. He tried to sit up and protest.

"Oh, shut up. Don't be so ridiculous," she snapped, dropping to the mattress and swinging her leg over his hip to straddle him. "It _is_ easier this way, you know. And I can't believe you haven't walked in on someone before the other day, either."

He growled, his hands suddenly curling about her hips in an attempt to stop her. She gasped at the strength that seemed to spread from his fingertips – even though she knew he wasn't the young, lanky teenager he had been when he'd first joined the circus, it still surprised her that he was taller now, and more muscular. She'd heard he'd been lifting weights lately. Well, _that_ was evident.

"If I wanted your _help_ , I'd _ask_ , Catherine." His voice was harsh.

"I highly doubt _that_. You always keep to yourself," she replied sharply. "You _never_ ask for help." She moved against his grip, bent, and pressed her mouth to his.

She felt him buck beneath her, felt his body arch to make contact with hers despite his words. His mouth suddenly opened hungrily and she angled her head to kiss him deeper, her tongue sliding along his. His hands twitched on her hips and he pulled her against him. She moaned, unable to stop herself. He was a good size, she thought lazily, as she cupped his head to keep their mouths fused together. Not as big as the strongman, not puny like a couple of the clowns, not short like the lion tamer or too fat like the elephant trainer.

"I didn't want to be... presumptuous," he muttered bitterly, finally pulling away enough to speak.

"Presumption has nothing to do with this. This is just basic human instinct. Two people needing a bit of... release. It happens all the time around here." She shrugged, sat up, dragged her fingers up the underside of his arousal, and rubbed the swollen head with her thumb. He bit back a cry, teeth clenched together in effort.

"It hasn't... happened to me! Not here, anyways...!" His voice was strained, now. He was either going to kill her, or fuck her senseless; she certainly hoped he did the second.

"No kidding?" Her eyebrows lifted. _That_ was surprising. He was good-looking enough; she'd heard some of the others comment that they'd like to get him in bed. "You mean none of the girls have...?"

" _No_! I didn't encourage anyone," he snapped, looking up at her from beneath his bangs. "Least of all _you_."

She shrugged one shoulder, trying to take the remark with flippancy, pretending it hadn't stung, when in fact, it had. "Well, the rest of you isn't complaining, now is it?" She lifted up to her knees and guided the tip of him into her body.

He grunted, his hips pushing upwards in an attempt to take more of her. "Just... hurry up, okay?" he complained, diverting his eyes from her face, as though he couldn't stand to look at her while they did this.

She smiled sarcastically at how prudish he was being, and dropped the rest of the way down. Instantly, he grasped her hips painfully and she welcomed the way his fingers dug into her flesh, the way he pumped firmly into her, hitting deep and hard. She teased him; her fingernails scraped at the dark nubs on his chest and he hissed, swore softly, and rolled them over so she was beneath him.

He began to drive into her, snapping his hips forwards and grinding against her damp ones. She breathed his name as her head fell back, reveling in the feel of him, while he buried his face against the mattress. It didn't take long; she had been turned on and wet before she had stepped into the tent, and she came quickly, thighs clenching about his hips. She cried out sharply, her hands grabbing at his strained biceps, nails digging into his skin. He was breathing hard, his breath tingled and fluttered her hair and felt as raw and hot as his hurried movements.

It was strange, she thought distantly, that he should be so _hurried_ – he was always so calm and collected and only ever moved this desperately when he was in a fight of some kind, be it a fistfight or mobile suits. She reached between them and tried to touch him, to send him over the edge too, but he swore dangerously in her ear.

" _Stop that_ ," he ordered roughly; he grabbed her wrists and thrust them above her head, changing the angle of their coupling and bringing their bodies flush with each other. " _Don't_ touch me, I'm too close."

"I know," she purred, wrapping her legs about his narrow waist and crossing her ankles. "I have to say, you're the best one I've had yet. If I knew who you're teacher was, I'd thank her."

His eyes flashed, he angled and thrust hard, making her cry out. A few pumps later, and he came as well, spurting into her. Still, he didn't collapse on top of her afterwards, and she supposed that had something to do with extreme self-control. Instead, he twisted and fell on his back beside her, grasping for breath, eyes closed to the ceiling of the tent.

She recovered faster than he did. With a deep breath to calm her racing blood, she sat up, found a nearby towel and cleaned herself off. She pulled her clothes back on, brushed her hair over her shoulder, and said breezily, "Well, then. That does feel better, doesn't it? Have a nice night."

She left without looking back, slightly frustrated that he disliked her company so much. She cared about him; didn't he understand that?

She fully expected him to ignore her for a while after what had just happened, or even take off again without telling anyone. But to her surprise, he showed up the next evening in _her_ tent, shirtless and frowning. She was drinking a cup of tea and listening to a news report on the radio when he entered.

Rather than act surprised (and it was hard not to), she managed to simply glance at him in a bemused sort of way, before she put her cup down and poured him one. She didn't want him to believe that she was only interested in sex; she wanted to be his friend more than anything else, after all. Sex was only a necessity in the circus to release energy. Friendship was more important, more concrete. They were partners. She didn't want to ruin their relationship because of something so base as rutting.

He sat down on a second low stool beside her and said nothing as the announcer told of a terrorist arrested on one of the L5 colonies, a shuttle that had been highjacked at a spaceport on L2 and brought down with a missile, and a political conference coming up in Paris, at which the Vice Foreign Minister would be attending. But as soon as the news ended and she flicked the radio off, he placed his cup on the small table in front of them. She did the same, almost as though she could read his mind. He was here for a reason, after all; he'd already dimmed the lantern and was unfastening his jeans. She pulled her shirt over her head and unsnapped her bra, wriggled out of her slacks and pulled him towards the cot.

They had just gotten comfortable and he was starting to ease inside of her, when the tent flap opened.

She felt him tense, felt the muscles in his body tighten and his head twist towards whoever was intruding.

It was one of the trick acrobats who rode the horses Roman-style about the ring. He said nothing as he made his way to the table; he looked tired more than anything. Likely, he'd been training all afternoon and was exhausted.

He finally found whatever it was he was after, and grunted, "Borrowing a couple of teabags, Cath. Been a hell of a day."

"That's fine, Rolf."

He left without looking back at the pair of them, and after a moment, Trowa's muscles relaxed slightly, though she could practically feel the heat burning from his face.

She couldn't help it; she giggled. "Where were we?" she purred.

He didn't answer verbally, and she found she didn't mind much.

**~FIN~**


End file.
